


"Put on your brave face"

by VeloxVoid



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bandits & Outlaws, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fight Scene, Found Family, Gen, Hilda Week (Fire Emblem), Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Minor Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeloxVoid/pseuds/VeloxVoid
Summary: There is no harm in being delicate. It is okay to show your soft side, once in a while. Hilda has experienced battles and hardships and loss, but still locks away her own emotions to become a guiding light for her friends.A battle breaks out. She has just lost an old friend, and more death rattles her. Hilda wants to be brave, but there is only so much she can take.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	"Put on your brave face"

_Put on your brave face._

Hilda sat by the ruins beneath the cathedral, in the quietest, most secluded part of Garreg Mach that her harrowed state had been able to find. Sitting upon the dusty ground, with her back against the rubble that had fallen from the monastery all those weeks ago, Hilda found herself completely alone. Not even the birds sung around her. The wind whistled through the wreckage, and running water could be heard in the distance, but Hilda could not hear a single other human from within the deep, lonely monastery.

She didn't know whether that comforted her, or saddened her.

_Be strong._

The woman took deep breaths, feeling her chest rise and fall raggedly beneath the tightness of her clothes. She'd felt suffocated recently - as though her ribs were attempting to embrace her lungs, or - more so - as though chains were binding her.

_Just breathe._

Yet, as Hilda took one long, deep breath, she felt shudders begin to rise in her throat. Her eyes began to prickle, her chest grew tighter still, and before she knew it, she was burying her forehead in her hands and beginning to sob.

It felt good: relieving - _freeing_. She heard her own voice in her ears - high-pitched whines that accompanied the tears that fell from her eyes, squeezed so tightly shut.

She had suffered through this for too long. Just how long was she expected to keep up this façade? To give smiles, and make jokes, and be there for everybody in their times of woe?

Their last battle, that they'd returned from only yesterday, had been the most terrible yet. Hilda had not voiced it, but her breakfast had threatened to resurface when she'd seen who they'd had to face.

With arrows lining its flank, rearing and screaming in pain, Ferdinand von Aegir's horse had thrown its rider to the ground as it had collapsed, dying. The man's hair had grown since she'd seen him last - in that moment, it flowed fiercely in the wind, long and elegant. But the face beneath it had been terror-stricken.

Ferdinand and Claude had exchanged words from metres away. Hilda had been close enough to hear them, but had tuned out the noise. She'd been so focused on Ferdinand's face - watching his determination and passion coalesce into fear as he'd listened to Claude's words.

Why had it affected her so much? She'd seen people die before, but something about Ferdinand had shocked her. Perhaps it was the fact that she'd known him. She'd spoken with him, and Marianne had complimented him on his equine knowledge behind closed doors, and she'd even grown to enjoy his rather annoying presence around the monastery.

But, she'd seen an arrow strike him in the heart. She'd watched crimson blossom through the beige prints of his doublet, but a battalion had descended upon him all the same, to speed up his death. She'd watched Claude turn his back as Ferdinand had screamed into oblivion.

"Hilda?"

Now, Claude's voice shot through the silence around her, cutting through the wind and her sobs almost like a war horn. _No. No more war_. There was a sort of urgency to his tone - the hard note beneath it that surfaced when he was concerned.

Of _course_ he'd be concerned. Claude knew Hilda better than she'd like to admit. Her escape to the 'bathroom' amidst a training session had been suspicious even to somebody as oblivious as Raphael; Claude had given her a dubious look at once, but she'd left the training grounds all the same.

So desperate was Hilda to have just one more minute alone - another minute to let herself finally mourn, and to compose herself. Alas, her time was up. Claude approached, and Hilda would have to face him.

_So, put on your brave face._

Hilda stood. She straightened her skirts, brushing dust from her backside, and wiped away her tears with one shaking finger. She felt a false smile envelop her lips, and raised her eyebrows in their usual perkiness as she poked her head out from around the rubble.

"Claude?" she called out to him, relieved to hear the usual pleasant curiosity lining her voice. Despite her tears, and her woes, and her exhaustion, Hilda's deception could hide more than just her face.

From behind an overgrown bush, the Tactician appeared, and his face relaxed at once from its taught facial expression. "Oh," he gave a relieved little laugh, and put a hand to his heart. "She's over here!" he then called.

 _Oh, great._ The rest of the Golden Deer rounded a corner bearing looks of concern, their colourful clothes contrasting so fiercely with Hilda's grey mood.

"We thought we'd lost you!" Claude called over to her as they approached. "Where did you run off to?"

Hilda cocked her head. "I told you - the bathroom!"

"Forgive me, but this doesn't look much like the bathroom to me." Claude's voice was joking, but the hardness to his eyes told Hilda he knew more.

She shrugged, and slipped a smirk onto her lips. "Can't a girl take a break from training once in a while?"

"Are you falling back into old habits again?" Leonie giggled.

 _Yes_. That was a good alibi. She returned the laugh, remembering her academy days of skipping classes and training. _Such easy days._ "You got me!"

It was at that moment, however, that Lorenz yelped. Each head snapped around to him - to where he grasped at his neck - to find a blow-dart sticking out of it.

Noises of incredulousness sounded from each Deer, and Marianne dashed forward to catch Lorenz as he slumped to the ground. A poisoned dart - and a makeshift one at that - could mean only one thing. Hilda had seen this before; they all had, after one too many ambushes on their war travels.

 _Bandits_.

Hilda's heart jumpstarted at once; adrenaline flooded her brain so fast it cut out her vision for a second, but she spun around just as their attackers swarmed into the scene from where they'd hidden amongst the rubble and around the monastery walls. Hilda was almost thankful that her breakdown had come in the middle of a training session, for the Freikugel sat propped up next to her, and she swiped it into her grasp at once.

What had she become? Her academy days had been so much _easier_. Back then, she could have sat back and watched the fight go on, only having to lift a finger if somebody grew too close to her. Now, though, she felt herself moving; she turned, seeing the group of black-garbed bandits charging towards them - and her legs took her into the midst of the fight.

The Freikugel was almost a part of her by this point: its handle felt moulded to her grasp, and she swung it through the air as easily as slicing bread. As she watched a bandit come at her - daggers headed straight for her throat - she brought her axe down upon their skull.

It split open, and the bandit fell to the floor; Hilda wished desperately that she was not numb to such a sight, but she was. She felt the caustic heat of blood upon her face, but it did not turn her stomach as it once had. Instead, she wiped it away with a sleeve and turned on her heel, looking for her next target.

The Golden Deer were outnumbered. The bandits were perhaps twenty, and - with Lorenz and Marianne out of action - the Deer were only six. It seemed not to matter, though; Claude and Ignatz were lightning fast with their flying arrows, and the bandits' daggers seemed no more than kitten scratches against the brawn of Raphael. With only shabby leather armour, the bandits dropped like flies in their wrath.

A sort of war cry left the throat of a woman who approached her, and Hilda braced herself as she held out the Freikugel to parry the oncoming sword. Axes were not excellent at parrying, and thus Hilda wasted no time in sending hers crashing into the bandit's unguarded ribs. She heard cracks, and splatters, and the all-too-familiar squelch of crushed innards as her enemy screamed. And so Hilda brought the Freikugel into the woman's face, to send her lifeless to the ground and put her out of her misery.

A second bandit was upon her before she could react, and Hilda scarcely had time to move as his dagger shot out towards her. She let out a yell as the blade cut through her arm - splattering blood across her attacker's front - but he had no time to follow up with a second slice as an arrow plunged into his neck right before her eyes. Its fletching was a light green colour: _Ignatz_.

Hilda clutched at the Freikugel once more, but felt the stinging to her wound become a tingle. Looking down, white light danced around the cut, and vitality flooded her veins once more. Spinning around, she saw Marianne well out of harm's way behind the fight, white magic lingering upon her fingertips, but the woman's gaze had already moved on: she concentrated hard on casting more in Leonie's direction. She always looked so beautiful when she was consumed by concentration. It was a shame she only ever looked that way in situations such as these.

Hilda's daydreaming was cut short as a _whoosh_ sounded from behind her. Instinctually, she ducked, and watched a heavy-looking axe soar over her head. Its wielder - a spindly, sharp-faced woman - looked to be far too small for the mighty weapon, and the weight of her swing sent her staggering a few steps sideways.

She would be an easy target, and Hilda's arms prepared for an uppercut with the Freikugel, until something caught her eye. A medallion: a huge, golden token hanging from the woman's neck almost like an award. None of their other attackers could be seen wearing one, and this woman's large, imposing axe was too well-crafted for this lowly group of scavengers. No - this bandit was unlike the others. And she could be necessary.

While she was staggering, Hilda hit her square in the chest with the flat of her axe. A harsh _clang_ joined the sounds of weapons all around them from the Freikugel hitting the medallion, but it sent the bandit flying backwards, dropping her weapon, and falling to the floor. Hilda rushed over, and placed her boot down upon the woman's chest, holding the Freikugel to her neck.

"I think I have their chief!" Hilda cried out, turning her head to try to glimpse Claude.

His bow was raised - expression sharp - but all of the bandits that surrounded him were no more than corpses. He lowered his weapon and turned to Hilda. "Nice work!"

A glow of purple mottled the air around Lysithea's hands before a man's scream was heard, and after that, the battle was over. The Golden Deer panted with their exertion, and Raphael's voice spoke soothing words to Ignatz, but otherwise, everything was quiet. The sounds of running water could be heard again, and the wind continued to howl.

The woman under Hilda's boot stared into her eyes with hatred, only averting her gaze once Claude appeared at her side.

"You're their chief?" he asked, taking on that air of command he'd grown into as of late. When all the woman did was spit at him in response, he tutted. "Well, you aren't exactly inconspicuous, what with that huge medallion. Where'd you get it? Steal it from the archbishop's quarters?"

"Damn you all!" Her voice was harsh - as though blood or saliva was caught in her throat.

One gesture of Claude's hand, and Hilda released the woman from beneath her shoe. Claude crouched down to her, eyes finding the sliver of steel that glinted in her belt. He took the woman's own dagger and pointed it at her, still squatting so as to lean over her.

"Why are you here." His words were a command, not a question. They sent a chill up Hilda's spine, hanging like icicles in the breeze that whipped all around them.

The chief breathed heavily in response, panic threatening to surface from beneath her indignant expression. Her eyes darted around each Deer, and - without warning - she sprung at Claude. Her hands grabbed at his wrists and she attempted to stab him with the weapon he still held, but he was stronger. He pushed against her, and the blade entered the soft skin of her throat. Scarlet gushed from the wound, and Hilda closed her eyes, turning away as rasps and choking filled her ears.

Whatever Claude did next must have ended the chief's life quickly, for the dying gasps ended as soon as the dagger clattered against the floor.

The Golden Deer house grouped together, as silent as shadows. Hilda noticed that Lorenz had been propped up into a sitting position against a pile of rubble, and Marianne crouched down to him and removed a vial from her robes.

But, Hilda's mind was on the chief. She was not the first bandit chief who'd been killed right before her. And - Hilda realised with dismay - she probably would not be the last. She wished she hadn't had to bear witness to all of these murders. She wished she hadn't needed to commit so many. In her past, she had never been disconcerted by the idea of war, or murder, for they had seemed such foreign, unattainable concepts.

Now, though, after being unable to count how many had died at her hands, Hilda felt almost overwhelmed. These were people. They each had lives as complex and meaningful as her own. But, they were not here to tell of them anymore.

"What if she was just trying to provide…?" Hilda heard the words leave her mouth almost of their own accord.

"Provide?" Leonie raised an eyebrow at her.

"The chief. She was probably just trying to put food on the table. For her family, or something."

"We all have families, Hilda." Claude's face was gentle. "It doesn't mean we have to steal, or murder without good reason."

"It just… doesn't seem fair." Why was she saying this? Did she really even believe this? Or had she just been forced to the brink by one too many a long day? "Their reasons were good to them. Or else they wouldn't have done it."

"None of this is fair," Marianne agreed from where she'd finished tending to Lorenz.

"But, they attacked first." Claude's voice was hollow. "In the end, they would have killed us, had we not gotten to them before they could."

Hilda's nose wrinkled as the stench hit her all at once; blood. _Death_. The festering, sweet scent of gore beneath the sun.

"Can we get out of here…?" Ignatz looked as queasy as Hilda felt as he slipped his bow back over his shoulder.

"But, what do we do with the bodies?" Raphael asked in return.

Even Claude looked perturbed. "I'll get to that when I think of something." He reached out a hand, and touched Hilda's shoulder gently. "Let's head back to the dorms."

"Oh, really?" Leonie piped up, wiping blood from her face with the back of her hand. "I was hoping to get in just a smidge more training."

The Deer gave vacant laughs, but humour could not breach the gloom that shrouded Hilda Valentine Goneril. Once Raphael had thrown an incapacitated Lorenz unglamorously over his shoulder, the group began to walk. They traipsed back to their old dormitories, taking the routes through the grounds that had been etched into their memories from their year living here. The Deer talked, and chatted, and even gave some laughs.

And Hilda felt ill.

How could they laugh? What was there to laugh about, in times such as these? It was no fault of their own, Hilda knew, but in a fit of disbelief that rose inside her, she could not help but feel almost barbaric.

It was hypocritical. Hilda had been doing the exact same for months - brushing off their battles and acting as a guiding light while the Deer suffered through their mental tolls. She had pushed it all to the back of her mind in favour of being cheery, but, it seemed, it had all caught up to her.

Tears welled once more in her eyes and she stopped in her tracks. Ferdinand von Aegir appeared beneath her eyelids, and for a moment, she swore she heard the dying rattles of the bandit chief's ragged breathing. Hilda sank to her knees upon the cobblestones outside the monastery, burying her face in her hands.

"Hilda…?" Lysithea sounded quiet, but it was enough to catch the attention of her other friends.

" _Sothis_ , Hilda!?"

"Are you hurt?"

"What's wrong!?"

But Hilda was crying again. Hot tears spilled out into her palms, but she didn't care anymore. Her chest hurt - like the chains binding her were trying to squeeze the life out of her - and she let out hysterical wails as her spine hunched over, heaving with each sob.

A soft hand touched the centre of her back, and she could smell the familiar floral scent of Marianne, who had come to sit beside her. "Let it out," she said softly.

"I don't-- even know-- what's up with me!" Hilda managed between sobs.

"I do," the woman replied. "You've put too much weight on your own shoulders."

Hilda looked up into those golden brown eyes. Her vision was blurry through her tears, but Marianne's pretty face was serious. "Wh… what?" she asked.

"You are so strong. So carefree. To ground us." It was unlike Marianne to be so talkative, but there was passion behind those golden eyes. "But you share the same burdens as us all. You knew Ferdinand, too. You need to let it out your woes as well."

More tears welled up in her eyes in response, and she felt her lips begin to tremble.

"You don't need to be brave for us, Hilda." Marianne's voice sounded even softer than usual - her tired eyes so reassuring. _Oh_ , how the times had changed; Hilda recalled so many times where she'd done the exact same - rubbing Marianne's back and reassuring her through her woes.

"Since when did you become the supportive one?" Hilda's light-heartedness did not sound so confident through her sob-racked voice.

"Since you _needed_ support." She was serious in response. "Hilda, we love you. We love you for you."

"Of course we do," Claude said, coming to Hilda's other side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "We all feel this way. And we all need to let it out sometimes."

"Tell me about it!" Lysithea placed her hands on her hips as she looked over at Claude. "This guy keeps me up at night sometimes with his crying."

Claude's face took on an expression of bashfulness. "I just… I like to practice my acting sometimes, what can I say…"

Whether Lysithea's statement of Claude was true, or merely an attempt at a joke, Hilda did not know. But, she laughed either way, despite the feeling of emptiness in her chest.

It would take more than a few jokes for Hilda to feel like her old self again. In a way, she supposed this war would change her forever - make her incapable of remembering a time without death and strife.

But, she had the best company she could ask for to guide her through it. A company, she realised, she did not need to wear a mask around. She buried her face in Marianne's shoulder, and let out some more tears. And, for once, it felt good.


End file.
